


Enough

by skships



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Les Amis - Freeform, Les Mis - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Some Fluff, University AU, art student grantaire, lots of ships, mental health, mostly exr, politics student enjolras, slow burn probably, tw:mentions of alcohol, tw:mentions of eating disorders, tw:mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skships/pseuds/skships
Summary: Enjolras didn’t want to fall in love. Didn’t think he was capable. He just wanted to get through the semester, get the work done and try to blank out the voices in his head. Then at a university support group he meets the insufferable Grantaire: messy, cynical, complicated. Why is he so inexplicably frustrated by his presence?As the year moves on can they learn to be enough for themselves, let alone each other?





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first work in a long time so is probably messy af sorry. Trying to get back into writing and why not start with my favourite group of French revolutionaries?

It’s 10pm on a Friday night and Lucien Enjolras is working. Hunched over his desk, typing frantically at a laptop, he doesn’t notice as darkness crawls up the windows,seeping in until the only light he is left with is the dim glow of his screen. If I could only finish this essay, he thinks as he rubs a hand absent mindedly through his blond curls, tied back in a messy knot. His stomach growls, though he doesn’t notice it. Or maybe he’s trying to ignore it. He doesn’t need or want to think about that now. And so his hands continue to skitter across the keyboard, thin and delicate as he pours out everything that buzzes in his brain, to get the work done and more importantly, good enough.

Enjolras jumps when he hears the door rattling, jolted as if out of a dream. He stares around, bleary eyed, while after several minutes of scratching the door opens and his roommate, Combeferre walks in. He expects he’s been at his boyfriend Courfeyrac’s or the library, he probably told him which before he went but Enjolras was too focused to absorb anything else.   
“Jesus Enj, did you not thing to turn in a light?” he says, exasperated, flicking the light switch. “I didn’t realise,” Enjolras mutters, blinking as harsh light floods the room. “You need to pay more attention!” Combeferre scolds gently. Tall, neat and organised, Combeferre moves around, simultaneously sorting himself while fixing everything that Enjolras has neglected. “I’m sorry ‘Ferre, it’s just this essay is important and I need to finish my notes too... “ Enjolras starts, trailing off to yawn.  
Combeferre looks at him worriedly. “Enj, is everything ok?” he asks.   
“I’m fine really just-“  
“How long have you been working?”  
“I started at 11, but I did have more to do and-“  
“Enjolras, that’s nearly 12 hours.” Combeferre says sternly . He sees the empty coffee cup discarded on the desk.   
“Have you eaten, drunk anything, showered?” He probes. “Apart from coffee.”  
Enjolras sighs. No point trying to deny it.”I wasn’t hungry.” he mutters. “And I was too busy.” Let’s not mention that he can’t remember the last time he properly ate or slept.  
“C’mon Enjolras. You need to take care of yourself. You’re working yourself to the bone-“ Enjolras winces. “-and you really can’t slip into old habits. You know that.”   
“I’m sorry.” Enjolras says after a long pause. The feelings inside him are too complicated to bring up, and he wishes Combeferre would let him continue working. Although, now he stops, he realises how tired he is and the tightening sensation behind his eyes. “I’ll stop now” he suggests. Combeferre looks into his eyes for a minute. “You know, Éponine has talked about the student health support group she’s part of. I really think you should try going.”  
“I don’t need any help!” Enjolras insists.  
“Think about it,” Combeferre says adamantly. “You really can’t go on like this.” As he speaks, Enjolras sees the look of brotherly love and worry in his eyes and feels a pang of guilt. Combeferre isn’t easy to worry but his furrowed brows show Enjolras that he clearly is.  
“Okay.” he agrees.  
Combeferre nods. “Now I’m going to make some toast and you are going to stop and have it!”.   
Shaking the worries out of his head, Enjolras follows him.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is not doing so well, but when things get worse, he realises he needs a change. 
> 
> TW: eating disorder mentions, purging, hospitals.

Enjolras sleeps fitfully, his body not used to getting so much rest. Plus, the toast ‘Ferre made him eat (“Two slices Enjolras, please!”) is lying heavily in his stomach. His mind ticks: he has done the coursework for Monday, prepared for the debate on Tuesday, Thursday’s essay needs work...in fact, all of it needs work....he eventually falls asleep in the early hours of the morning.

He is woken by ‘Ferre at about nine, and from the chatter and crashing about in the kitchen, Courfeyrac too. His bed is warm, and the outside world is cold, but Enjolras feels he should be civil. Courf normally has something to make him smile as well, and right now, he needs that. As he climbs out of bed, his head spins and his vision goes black, forcing him to grab the wall for support. Enjolras shakes his head, and slowly the world returns to normal. He’s tired, and he needs coffee, he reassures himself. Grabbing a blanket, he stumbles to the kitchen, only to be greeted with what looks like a bomb site. There are pans and syrup and spoons and even sprinkles (ok, that has to be Courfeyrac!) At the other end of it, Combeferre and Courfeyrac sit with plates of what looks like- and smells like- pancakes. ‘Ferre looks up as Enjolras reaches for the cafetière and his mug, smiling gently at something Courfeyrac has said. They are not alike, Courf bubbly and loud while ‘Ferre is more solemn and serious, but they fit together seamlessly and bring out the best in each other. Courfeyrac teaches Combeferre to relax, and in return, he keeps Courfeyrac under control and less like an excitable puppy. Enjolras cannot help but admire what they have, the happiness they have achieved. He hasn’t put much thought into love, preoccupying himself with his work. He knew he was gay, there was no point denying the twinges of excitement and fantasies he had occasionally, at least he is human apparently, but he hadn’t the time nor the need to settle with someone. Or to be open with them, allow himself to be vulnerable and show them his broken parts. If someone saw that, they would run, and he’d be left alone. Never good enough. Combeferre pulls him out of his thoughts.  
“Enjolras, just in time! We saved some for you. I’d avoid the ones with sprinkles though, that was Courf’s doing,”  
“Hey, they are nice!” Courfeyrac pouts. Enjolras feels dread grow inside him. He could excuse himself, take his coffee(black, no sugar) into his room and crack on, but ‘Ferre’s eyes are boring jokes into his skull, and he knows he will definitely pull him up on it. Sighing and feigning a smile, he goes to join them. He could at least add fruit to the pancakes, that is good for you, not like the pancakes with all the butter and sugar- oh god, butter and sugar and eggs and milk and oil to fry- and that way, he might be ok. Or he could only eat a bit, but ‘Ferre is already passing him a plate with three on it, and there’s no way out. Shit. He sips at his coffee and listens to Courf’s ramblings, until Combeferre very pointedly stabs at a piece of pancake. Right. He lifts his fork, cutting off a bit, and lifts it to his mouth. Chews, swallows. And the next.  
“Enjolras, how are you doing?” Courfeyrac asks. “Not seen you in ages! I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the last meeting, choir concert!”  
“No worries, Courfeyrac. You’ll be at the next one, right?”  
“Should be” Courfeyrac grins.  
“Great. See you there. How’s the course?”  
Courfeyrac is doing drama, which suits him well.  
“It’s great actually, we’re rehearsing for our autumn show, we’re doing A Midsummer’s Nights Dream! Jehan and I are Titania and Puck, respectively!”  
“A non-binary person in a lead role? Sounds good to me!” Enjolras cannot help but smile at Courf’s enthusiasm. Jehan is another close friend, and one that Enjolras trusts dearly. “They’ll be great in the role, as will you as Puck!” Adds Combeferre, earning a sticky kiss on the cheek. Enjolras smokes again at their joking, and realises his pancakes are almost gone. The tense, dark pit in his stomach builds again.  
“Right, we should clear this mess up, babe” says ‘Ferre, standing and stretching despite Courfeyrac’s protests.  
“I think I’ll go shower.” Enjolras adds, draining his coffee and trying to ignore the repulsion rising inside him. He excuses himself to the bathroom, turning the shower on. The pancakes (thebutterandsugarthebutterandsugarthebutterandsugar) are inside him, a hard sore weight, and he ate too much, he got out of control, he’s going to be forever out of control. The toilet is right there, and he can’t help it. Cheeks burning with shame, Enjolras kneels down, hand poised, and gets himself back in control. 

After, he sits for a minute, cheek pressed against the cool tiles, bile burning his throat. A stray tear trickles down his cheek, and he knows it’s getting bad again. But he can’t stop it, doesn’t want to, doesn’t know how. So he just sits, ashamed and sad and catching his breath. Enjolras can hear Combeferre and Courfeyrac talking, through the walls. He hopes that he was quiet enough, glad he has had practise. He focuses in on what they are saying:  
“Darling, have you seen him? He looks terrible! It’s only been a fortnight!”  
“ I know, Courf, I know. He’s so pale. And fragile. I don’t know how to help.” Combeferre’s voice breaks, and Enjolras’ stomach drops as he realises they are talking about him. Shame, cold and terrible, seeps into him. Look what you are doing to them.  
“‘Ferre, it’s ok. There’s councillors here, and ‘Ponine’s group. He’s not your responsibility.”  
“I know that, love, but I hate seeing him this way. I’m his best friend, what am I supposed to do?!”  
Enjolras hears them comfort each other, and tears well up in his eyes again. He’s not a strong leader, he’s pathetic, incapable, and needs to do better. Grimacing, he stands up, unsteadily, and looks at himself in the mirror. Tangled hair(he has slept on it), bags under his eyes, drawn cheekbones, but nothing out of the ordinary to him. A bit more sleep will do it, and Combeferre can stop worrying. He shrugs off his clothes, and steps into the shower. 

Everything is fine, or at least Enjolras tells himself that, until he faints in class a week later. Nothing had changed, he’d only added an hour or so to his sleep, but he’d pushed the subject down and it seemed to have gone unnoticed at the next meeting of Les Amis de l’ABC,his student activist group. He only declined one brownie from Feuilly, and Combeferre didn’t notice, so everything is fine. Until Monday morning, that is, at his 10am lecture on world politics. He had felt dizzy getting up, as he usually does, but after a coffee and a quick run to the bus stop he felt quite awake. His stomach rumbled out of negligence, but he dismissed it. By 11, the caffeine had work off, and Enjolras felt weak. He continuesto take notes, and decides that he would work at home that afternoon. When it finishes, he packs his stuff and rises from his seat. Had his heart always been pounding? He wonders, groggily. The world tilts alarmingly, his legs feel numb, there’s a sharp ringing in his ears, and then everything goes black. 

Enjolras vaguely remembers getting to hospital, hooked up to a drip and blood drawn. As he lies there, embarrassed at his own weakness, a nurse approaches with a cup of water. “Monsieur Enjolras?” She enquires. He takes the cup and sips it. “Your blood glucose levels are down and your blood pressure is also low. Have you been ill recently?” Enjolras shakes his head. “Did you eat this morning?” Enjolras looks down. “I had coffee.” He mutters. “Monsieur, I have read your notes. It is not safe for you to do this, you need to be eating, even small amounts, regularly. Is everything going ok right now?” Enjolras freezes.  
“I’m just stressed,” he replies, as nicely as he can. “I’ll get back on track.”  
“Good.” The nurse smiles. “If you need to sign up for counselling or require further medical treatment, feel free to do so. We will keep you in until this afternoon, but then you are free to go!” With these words, she turns and briskly leaves. Enjolras flushes miserably. Maybe, he does need help, after all. 

A worried-looking Combeferre arrives soon, followed by an unnaturally serious Courfeyrac. They both pull Enjolras into a tight hug, and he smiles faintly.  
“You can’t scare us like that, Enj” says Combeferre, and there are tears in his eyes. Enjolras only nods, afraid and ashamed.  
“We are helping you, and you are not locking us out now. Understood?”  
“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how bad it was. I never meant to hurt you,” Enjolras’ shoulders heave and Combeferre and Courfeyrac hug him tighter.  
“We know, Enjolras, it’s ok. But you are going to get help now, and we will get to a good place again.” Courf adds gently.  
“Now, we are going home, and you are going to eat, and watch movies with us. Class can wait for today, maybe even tomorrow. And on Thursday, you are going to the councillor and the mental health group.”  
Enjolras is terrified, but he knows they are right. Despite the fear, his heart fills with gratitude for his friends, and he feels that with them, he can try, step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the incredibly long delay, I kinda forgot I had this going....but here I am, and I’m gonna try to upload more frequently! For anyone that asks, I am writing about eating disorders from my own experiences. Feel free to leave a comment or kudos! -skships


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is fed up, but attends his first therapy session.  
> (TW- mentions of eating disorders, mentions of weight)

By the next day, Enjolras is fed up. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy being with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but he’s missing classes, and he needs to be working, but instead he’s just wrapped up in blankets and ‘Ferre keeps shoving soup and toast and cocoa. They’re even following him to the bathroom, for goodness sake, can’t a man piss in peace? At least they’re only waiting outside, and Enjolras can retain some of his dignity. I mean, if there’s any dignity in fucking passing out at university and then being treated like an invalid. He doesn’t know how he can walk into class and behave normally now, how he can be a leader and a good student when he’s acted like this. So weak. He’s not good enough. He’s pulled out his thoughts as Courfeyrac appears with more food. Ah yes, half twelve must be about lunchtime. Noodle soup- with carbs and globules of grease in floating on the surface. He stares at the bowl in his lap, a spoon gripped tightly in one hand, but makes no move, his own depressing thoughts whirling in his head. Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. He doesn’t even notice he’s shaking until Combeferre pauses their Disney marathon to gently grab his wrists.  
“Enj, look at me. Enjolras!”  
He looks up, flushing.  
“You can do it, Enj, you need to.”  
“‘Ferre, I can’t, it’s too much-“  
“Listen to me, Enj. It’s ok. You need it, huh? You need to for Les Amis, you need to be strong.”  
“But-“  
“No buts. Normal people eat, Enj.”  
“I’m not-“  
“You’re better than that, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac adds. “C’mon, it will get cold!”  
Slowly, he lifts the spoon.  
Courfeyrac turns the film back on, and The Lion King soon turns into a singalong, then Enjolras is joining in too, and it’s almost fun. Almost like it was before. 

Wednesday’s lecture, his first back, goes without a hitch. Thankfully it’s a different professor, but Enjolras thinks it will have spread, and his cheeks burn as he takes his place, shrugging off his coat and pulling out his notebook. No one comments, although he is sure that there are some stares from fellow students that Enjolras meets with glares. He may feel weak, but no one there should be able to think of him that way- he’s a top student, for crying out loud. Then it is Thursday, and ‘Ferre is chaperoning him down to the counsellors office. He feels weird, looking down at his feet in front of him, certain he can hear whispers around him. There goes the freak, the one that- “Enjolras, we’re here. You can go in, I’ll wait for you. Ok?” Combeferre, because he’s Combeferre, has already been in and sorted him an appointment after his “incident”. “Thanks, ‘Ferre.” Checking to make sure that no one is watching and laughing, seeing him admit defeat, he walks into the office. 

There, he is met by Mme. Fantine, who smiles gently and leads him to a seperate room, beckoning for him to sit down. He does so, but keeps his coat and scarf on,for two reasons: there’s no point getting comfortable, and if he keeps it on she might not see how bad it’s got. Because, deep down, he knows it’s bad. “Monsieur Lucien-“ “Please, call me Enjolras.” He tries not to sound hostile. “Of course, Monsieur Enjolras. How are you?” “Fine.” He answers curtly. “Just stressed.” She nods understandingly, but then pulls out a brown folder that makes Enjolras’ stomach drop. “I understand you have a history with Anorexia Nervosa, Enjolras?” She asks softly. Shit, Enjolras thinks, and he tenses up. He hates the term, the sound of it, the sour taste it leaves in his mouth. It’s not even accurate, to him, as he knows he’s sick, he knows he’s always been thin(a “blonde twink” as Courfeyrac calls him) and it’s not about the weight for him. It’s the control, the desire to be good enough in everything. “When I was fourteen, mademoiselle. I’ve not- I’ve not seen anyone for it in 3 years. I’ve been doing well.” She nods again. “You’ve done incredibly well. But from recent events, have you been struggling recently?” Enjolras looks down, shuffling his feet. “I guess so, mademoiselle.” “I’m sorry, Enjolras, that things are tough. Before we go further, I’d like to weigh you. Is this ok?” It’s not, it’s really not, but he nods anyway. Lets himself take off his coat, his scarf, his shoes, and at Fantine’s instructions, his “heavy” shirt. It reminds him of previous times, and he shudders. He cringes more as the cold air hits his torso, and as he steps on the scale, he looks down at himself properly for the first time in what seems like ages. His collarbones protrude, his ribs are concave and his hips jut out sharply. He feels a sick sort of pleasure, that he is in control, but then shame and embarrassment as he recognises how weak he has let himself get. Fantine frowns as he redresses, scribbling down figures. “You are...quite underweight, Enjolras.” He nods, too sickened to reply. “Do you understand that you are putting yourself at risk of events such as Monday and worse? I am sure you would not like to be hospitalised, with so much going for you.” Enjolras winces at her words, but shakes his head firmly. After several seconds, he croaks out a reply. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle. I thought I was in control. I want to be in control.” His voice sounds so small, it disgusts him. “Enjolras, I’m afraid your definition of control may be different from mine. Control is the ability to live independently, to manage your work, your behaviour, your relationships with others. What control is not, is to reduce what you are eating to unhealthy numbers. Does starving yourself make you in any way better at working, at living?” “Not really. But it could.” “Enjolras, it’s unhealthy. This is a control that is damaging you, not helping you.” “But-“ “We are all on your side, Enjolras. We want you to be well, and I’m sure your activist group needs you well as well.” Deep down, despite the protests inside his brain, Enjolras knows that she is right. And for the sake of his education, and everyone that’s relying on him, he knows he has to try, even if his gut instinct is telling him to put up his barriers, persist as he always has. So he agrees with Mme. Fantine, who smiles and gives him a small meal plan(his nose wrinkles in annoyance), a slip for a blood test and a time to meet the following week. “I understand you are going to attend our student group, with my colleague, Monsieur Madeleine?” Enjolras hesitates, but nods. “Good, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It is entirely confidential, and it is always good to have others to talk to!” Enjolras agreed, doubtfully, and bids his farewells. “If you need me anytime sooner, Monsieur Enjolras, please come by.” “I will, Mademoiselle Fantine. Thank you.” When he leaves, Combeferre is waiting, true to his word. He pulls Enjolras into a light hug, ignoring any protests. “I’m proud of you, Enj. You’re doing the right thing.” Muffled by Combeferre’s sweater, Enjolras finds it hard to reply. But he agrees to get coffee, and then meet Jehan so they can attend the support group.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a support meeting! And we finally meet everyone’s favourite cynic.

Jehan hugs him when they meet, nearly knocking Enjolras’ flask (“it’s for the environment, ‘Ferre”) out of his hands and leaving him with the pleasant aroma of lavender and citrus fruits.  
“It’s good to see you, mon chère!” Jehan exclaims, tossing their long auburn braid over their shoulder.  
“You too, Prouvaire,” Enjolras replies, letting Jehan grab his hand and tug him towards the counselling offices. Combeferre raises a hand in farewell, a small smile lingering on his lips. Enjolras gulps, ever so slightly terrified, but follows Jehan, as they race through the door, chattering excitedly. Inside, there is a large table, a bunch of chairs and a plate with cookies. Several people are loitering around, chatting in groups. A dark-haired man is already sitting, head bowed, probably fiddling with his phone.  
“Ooh, M. Madeleine has made cookies! He’s a great baker, Enj, and lovely!” Jehan exclaims, gesturing towards a white-haired, bearded man, who smiles politely. His eyes look kind, and Enjolras smiles back. Jehan proceeds with a running commentary on some of the members, presumably some of his friends.  
“That’s Joly, he always thinks he’s ill with something,” they point towards a spectacled, serious man with a cane, “and that’s Bossuet, his boyfriend- Musichetta is working today, I think- oh and that’s Bahorel with them, he comes to l’ABC” Enjolras nods, and Jehan lowers their voice as he gestures towards a freckled, blushing boy. “Then there’s Marius, he has the biggest crush on Madeleine’s daughter, Cosette. She comes sometimes. That- they points to the guy in the corner- is Grantaire.” The man offers them a lazy smile, and Enjolras notices his dark stubble, the paint streaks decorating his sweater, and looks down. “That is Montparnasse.” Jehan says as a dark-haired, gothic looking guy stalks in. They blush, and Enjolras raises an eyebrow. Before he can comment, Éponine is upon them, hugging them both in turn. “Jehan! How are you doing? And Enjolras, good to see you here,” she adds gently. She’s had it tough, Enjolras knows, and is living alone with her younger brother, Gavroche. They come to meetings sometimes, and he has always admired her. And Gav is pretty fun, too.

“Alright, is it ok if we start?” Monsieur Madeleine calls out, and people make their way towards the table, pulling out chairs and greeting each other. Enjolras sits between Jehan, who is sitting beside Montparnasse and giggling at everything he says, and Éponine, who is engaged in frantic conversation with the scruffy guy- Grantaire. Enjolras folds his arms, sitting primly, and declines Joly’s offer of a cookie. “I understand we have some new members here,” Monsieur Madeleine calls. “Would everyone like to introduce themselves, their subject, a bit about yourselves? Marius, you can start.” Marius flushes, but does so: “I’m M-m-Marius, I study lit-lit-literature” Grantaire is up next. “Waddup, I’m Grantaire, and I’m an alcoholic. Kinda. And I study art.” He looks bored, and oddly cool with talking about something so personal, Enjolras thinks. No one laughs at his comment though, as if they are used to it. “I’m Éponine, I’m here for languages” she smiles, and then it is Enjolras. “Enjolras. I’m a politics student.” He says, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He is good at public speaking, he’s used to it with Les Amis, but this is not his usual environment, and he feels awkward. “What are you here for?” Someone asks, and Enjolras realises it’s Grantaire. “I’m sorry?” “Does the fearless leader have a fear after all?” “What?” Enjolras can feel his blood boil. “Well, you take that group- the super political one- don’t you? Grantaire is smirking. “I do, yes. Maybe you should come.” Enjolras replies curtly. “Maybe I will.” says Grantaire, raising an eyebrow. M. Madeleine clears his throat, and Jehan resumes the introductions. Enjolras hardly pays attention, so infuriated and puzzled at the dark-haired man. Does he know what’s wrong with him? Is he mocking him? Why would he say that? He comes back to attention when Madeleine talks again. “Does anyone have anything they want to discuss?” Bahorel volunteers. “I only dropped one plate this week!” Everyone laughs, and Enjolras remembers that he has a habit of being quite clumsy, always the one to spill his drink or cause an accident. There is amiable chatter for a bit, and it’s not as tense as Enjolras thinks it’s going to be. “I’ve not been doing great this week,” Joly pipes up, and the room quietens. “My leg has been bad, and that causes things to spiral.” He gestures vaguely, and a few people nod. Bossuet puts an arm around him. “My partners have been getting me through it.” Joly says, and smiles gratefully. “Yes, support from those around you is one of the most important tools!” Monsieur Madeline interjects. “And I’m glad that you have been able to get support. That is part of what we are- providing support from peers in a non-judgemental environment, as well as a place where you can relax and talk freely, find an escape from what may be troubling you.” He turns to Enjolras, who holds his stare. “Would you like to add anything? These guys have already become acquainted with each other.” Enjolras is slightly lost for words, for once. “I want to fight injustice in the world” he says firmly. “And maybe this is a bit off track, but it needs done.” He earns a few whoops from fellow members of l’ABC. “As Grantaire mentioned, I do lead a student activist group. We campaign and raise awareness for issues that we think need adressed in our community. Currently, we are working on introducing gender-neutral bathrooms to university buildings.(a grin from Jehan)If anyone wants to come along, we meet Tuesday evenings. we would be grateful to have you supporting our cause.” He fixes a pointed look on Grantaire. There’s a couple of nods, some whispers. Grantaire, however, looks at him with indifference. “Do you think what you are doing is actually going to make a difference?” “Why wouldn’t it? Many have done so before. The suffragette movement, the civil rights movement.” “Is this as big as that?” “There are many, many injustices in the world Grantaire, some that put people in danger. And if no one makes a stand, they aren’t going to go anywhere.” Enjolras can feel himself getting annoyed. “Our world is fucked. Why care so much about it? Why not live in oblivion like the rest of us?” “Because our lives matter, Grantaire!” “You sounds like a fucking inspirational poster!” “Okay, Grantaire, Enjolras, enough. Can we move on now?” There is stunned silence, and then the conversation proceeds. Enjolras glowers, even more so as he notices that Grantaire looks completely unbothered, smirking lazily. 

He engages half-heartedly in the rest of the conversation, relieved when Monsieur Madeleine announces that the meeting is over. “Ignore Grantaire” Éponine whispers as they pull on coats. “He’s like that with everyone,” “Really? It seems like he just had a thing against me.” Enjolras snaps back. “Nah, seriously. That’s just R for you.” With a wink, she disappears off to talk to someone else. Probably Grantaire(R?) to tell him Enjolras is normally a whiny bitch like that, he thinks. Jehan skips over, flushed and breathless. “Well it looks like we gained a few members! Joly and Bossuet said they’d come with Bahorel, and they’d bring Chetta too. And apparently Marius knows Courfeyrac, so he might be convinced!” “That’s great” Enjolras replies. “And you did well too,” They smile gently. “Now let’s get out of here!” “In a minute,”Enjolras says, scanning for Madeleine. “Monsieur, I apologise if things got out of hand. But I will not stop standing up for what is right.” “That is alright, Enjolras. This is a place of free speech, after all. However, I think it would be good to keep arguing to the minimum in the future!” He grins, and pats Enjolras on the back as he leaves. “Lovely to have you along.” “Thank you, monsieur.” He lets Jehan tug him out.


End file.
